


The grand scheme

by apocahipster



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:48:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocahipster/pseuds/apocahipster
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale get on with their lives. They want their old jobs back and one is more successful at doing that than the other.





	1. Part 1 - What Came Next

When Crowley woke up it was barely even dawn, the sun hadn’t even risen, but he was surrounded by a radiant warmth. It was different to that of sunlight, different to that of heaven or hell; it was the warmth of Aziraphale. He wrapped his arm around Aziraphale’s stomach, lazily opening his eyes to see the angel just as he had been the night before, sitting upright against the bed board reading a book, albeit he had finished the one from last night and was several pages deep into a new one.

“You spent the whole night reading again?” Crowley asked.

“Ah, you’re awake. Well, yes reading is how I spend nearly every night. And you spent the whole night sleeping I see. How was that?”

“Divine,” Crowley said with yawn. “You should give it a go sometime.”

“Oh no I don’t think it’s really my thing,” Aziraphale said.

“Have you ever tried?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m afraid I’m not quite sure how.”

“Well it’s easy. By definition. You just lie down and close your eyes and you wait.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll try it, what’s the harm?” Aziraphale said, putting the book down on his bedside dresser and folding his reading glasses on top. He sank down into the bed lying on his side to face Crowley. “Here I go,” he said with a smile and a quirk of his eyebrows, before he shut his eyes, far too tightly.

Crowley rolled into him, breathing Aziraphale in and letting sleep take over his body, ready to spend the next few hours like this, lazy, quiet, indulging in the first peace he had known since-

“Is this right? Am I doing something wrong?” Aziraphale asked.

“For starters, it doesn’t work if you talk. And you have to relax.”

“All right.”

About a minute of silence passed before Aziraphale spoke again. “Um, how long is it supposed to take?”

“Ten minutes, sometimes a few hours.”

Aziraphale sat up suddenly and gravity pushed Crowley over. “Oh no that sounds far too tedious, I think I’d rather just read.”

Crowley would like to say their mornings consisted of better conversations than this. He’d like to say it but he couldn’t, not honestly at least. Still they were only about a week into the rest of their lives, so he supposed they had some time to get better at it.

Their days were spent simply existing. Aziraphale read books and Crowley read the Infernal Times. Aziraphale ate at a new café almost every day and Crowley sat beside him trying to learn the full functions of a smartphone. They strolled in the park and they saw plays and movies and they spent nearly each night together in Aziraphale’s home above the bookstore.

It was three weeks into their extended reprieve from work for an indeterminate amount of time (potentially forever, for all they knew), when Crowley was reading one of Aziraphale’s copies of Romeo and Juliet over lunch. The further he got through the book the more he laughed, until the ending had him losing his composure completely, bawling with laughter almost to the point of tears.

“Hysterical, this one is,” Crowley said putting the book down.

“It’s supposed to be a tragedy,” Aziraphale said exasperated.

“Are you sure? That whole nonsense with the poison, and then him thinking she’s dead, and then her seeing him dead, what a hilarious mix up to make. Top quality sitcom drama right there. Oh William you outdid yourself with this one.”

“It’s not funny,” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth.

“Come on, two idiots fall in love almost the moment they meet each other, already a stupid premise which you can only accept through for a genre of comedy. Then, oh no they just so happen to be from families who are at war, so they can’t possibly be together, but hey, woe is me to think two teenagers in love won’t be absolute beacons of wisdom. So they stay together anyway and oh great fires of hell…”

“What?”

“He wrote this about us, didn’t he?” Crowley asked, waving the book accusatorily, almost knocking the candle off their dining table.

“I highly doubt that,” Aziraphale said, placing his knife and fork down respectfully on his empty plate. He placed a generous tip next to the plate and then stood up holding out his arm. Crowley stuffed the book into his jacket pocket and linked his arm in Aziraphale’s.

As they left the restaurant he couldn’t shake the train of thought however. “Willy didn’t come up with a very nice ending for us though did he?”

“It’s not about us, but yes it’s a not nice ending because, again, it’s a tragedy. And besides if we are to entertain your idea, in his defence he wasn’t far off. We both _did_ almost end in tragedy. If angels were gambling creatures, total failure is where I would’ve put my money,” Aziraphale said.

“Still time for it to all fall to pieces I suppose,” Crowley said holding the restaurant door open for his partner to walk out.

“Don’t say that. Anyway, I always thought Shakespeare’s _Much Ado About Nothing_ was more on par for the two of us,” he said walking through.

“Always thought it huh?” Crowley pressed following him. “As in when you first read it you went, hmm this play is probably about me and Crowley. Do that often with romantic texts do you?”

“I must regretfully inform you, that you historically have occupied a substantial amount of my conscious thought space.”

Crowley wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The same was true for him, but it wasn’t something a demon with credibility could just _say_ , not that he exactly was a demon of credibility anymore.

“How was the meal?” he asked instead.

“Absolutely scrumptious,” Aziraphale said. Crowley hated that word. He didn’t think there was a single word in any human language, English or otherwise, which he hated more. _Scrumptious_. It was ridiculous. The sound of it was ridiculous, sonically almost painful to hear. There were so many adjectives which weren’t downright terrible. No word would ever fill him with so much rage to simply hear, and yet he had heard Aziraphale say it about three-hundred and seventy times over the course of their lives and all three-hundred and seventy times he had held his tongue, because ridiculous words like that was just how this ridiculous creature talked. “Um Crowley?”

They had stopped walking and were standing on the sidewalk of a semi busy London street. Crowley was frozen in place, a scowl on his face tightening the more he thought about how much he hated that one word. He thought about Romeo and Juliet and he thought about Much Ado About Nothing and he thought about all the times throughout the years Aziraphale would’ve read romance novels and would’ve compared their stories to the two of them.

In 6000 years he had not reacted on hearing that ridiculous word, but now felt like the time he finally should. He took Aziraphale’s face in his two hands and kissed him. A moment later he felt the angel’s hands slide up his back as the kiss was reciprocated. When they parted Aziraphale’s eyebrows had travelled further up his forehead than Crowley had ever seen them journey.

“I figured,” Crowley began swaying slightly as he scrambled for excuses. “We indulge in so many other human sensations, it was maybe time we tried that one out.”

“Ah yes well, I’ve done it a few times before,” Aziraphale began with a mutter.

“You’ve what?”

“-but it’s certainly something which could use some further, exploration,” he said with a quick smile. He patted his coat pocket for a moment before taking one of Crowley’s hands. “Right well. Let’s head on then shall we?”

 

 

It took a full month before Crowley was finally contacted. He was scrolling through youtube’s trending, trying to count how many of the cookie cutter influencers belonged to his side when a video about $1000 pizza being compared to $10 pizza had caught Aziraphale’s eye. The video was about the most boring thing Crowley had ever seen since Beethoven was the only decent show in town. Luckily, he didn’t have to watch for long as the bloggers turned and started talking to him.

“Crowley the traitor,” one of them greeted.

“Evening fellas,” Crowley said. Next to him Aziraphale looked stunned. Crowley angled the screen away so that the angel would be out of shot.

“Head office wants a word with you,” the demonic influencer said.

“Fantastic,” Crowley said as his heartrate skyrocketed in fear.

“Don’t worry,” the other began. “They want to offer you your old job back. Despite… your many errors they miss the numbers you were pulling in. So, don’t keep them waiting.”

The video returned to normal. It took a while for Crowley to remember how to blink.

“Hmm well… that was interesting,” Aziraphale said.

“What do you think?” Crowley asked.

“It’s pretty spiffy. Our lot never send messages like that. We’re a bit more old-fashioned.”

“I mean about me working again,” he said.

“Ah, that… I think you should do it,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley frowned. “Not the answer I was expecting.”

“Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been keeping an eye out for bad, badness, bad things happening around us. I know you’re catching up on these new technologies because you’re scheming ways to use them for evil. You’re creative, you’re _wily_ , it’s who you are. If you don’t get it out of your system somehow, I’m worried you’ll go stir crazy in a matter of decades, let alone centuries.”

“Yes, but I would be doing things you don’t approve of.”

“Quite the contrary. I do approve,” Aziraphale said. “What happened with the apocalypse, it’s gotten me thinking about bigger questions. Really big questions. And well… I don’t think there’s really any point to human lives, human souls, joining heaven if they aren’t being tempted. If they’re only exposed to good then what’s the point of it all? It’s about the choices they make. Besides, I don’t exactly… well… I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re someone good now did I? I fell in love with a demon who sometimes does good things. In selfish honesty,” Aziraphale leant right up to Crowley’s ear and whispered, as though that would stop heaven from listening in. “It was always a hoot seeing what you’d come up with next, I look forward to seeing your work again.”

“I- I’m…”

“Not every day an angel makes a serpent tongued demon speechless. I’ll say, I’m rather proud of myself.”

“I cannot believe you’re okay with this.”

“More than okay, actually. I endorse it,” Aziraphale said.

 

 

Crowley’s trip down to hell was filled with many cycling thoughts. An angel telling a demon to do bad deeds. He, a demon, asking an angel for permission to do bad deeds. Was that asking for permission? No, no way, he totally would’ve done it regardless. Well… maybe not. Maybe if Aziraphale had said no, he just so happened to have not _wanted_ to return to work anyway. Not _because_ of the angel’s disapproval, just circumstantially.

Hell was just as he had remembered. Dark, humid, too warm, too wet, and filled with faces which were simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar, like the spouses of work colleagues you had met at multiple Christmas parties and you were certain it was considered rude to not know their names by now, but you also knew you couldn’t find an ounce of giving a damn in you to bother to remember them this time. This was hell alright.

‘Higher Ups’ was such a broad term as to who and what that meant. As he traversed deeper and deeper into hell, passing circles he was less acquainted with, he supposed the term used for demons should be ‘Lower Downs’ as the further down you got the more important you were. Hell was a very backwards place like that. For example, being in hell’s ‘bad books’ for a human actually meant you were in heaven’s ‘bad books’ so you were going to hell. If terminology made sense you’d be in hell’s good books. But hell didn’t have good books. They had ‘you’re doing okay I suppose’ books, which is where Crowley had been settled for most of his existence. He figured, given a time frame of eternity, you either die of holy water or wind up becoming the villain. And by villain he meant hero because going good is what made you a villain down- oh stuff it.

By the time he reached the room of his interview, Crowley’s mind was so tangled with terminology that he sauntered into the room without knocking and sat down on the chair with a slouch. It was the most stereotypical ‘interview in hell’ room he had ever seen. It was a small room with walls of fire, a desk and a chair on either side of the desk.

Across from Crowley sat the demon Asael. “Hello,” Crowley began.

“Crowley,” he said. “A lot of your old co-workers are not enthusiastic about your return.”

“Lucky them, I haven’t gotten the job yet,” Crowley said.

“We both know you have the job. The demons you meet on the daily don’t understand your craft, but those of us down here, we pay attention. We see the numbers, the thought process. We were impressed back then and no demon has compared to you. There’s no one else like you. Despite your minor hiccups with the Armageddon business, you did your job efficiently for the millenniums before that. So, we want you back.”

“Well,” Crowley held out his arms. “I accept. I’m back! Ta-da!”

“Excellent.”

“Um one question,” Crowley said. “Is it going to be a problem… me uh, fraternising with the enemy?”

“If it doesn’t become a problem, then it won’t _be_ a problem,” Asael said.  “Will it be a problem?”

“No. Actually he supports it.”

“Hm,” Asael said without a hint of care. “Anything else?”

“No that’s all. It’s good to be back.”

“Not too good, I hope,” Asael said holding out his hand.

Crowley shook it enthusiastically.

 

 

The door to the bookstore opened and before Aziraphale could reflexively say that the store was closed Crowley danced inside. He continued to dance as he walked up to Aziraphale, taking him by the hand, pulling him out of his chair and into a swing dance twirl. Crowley then dipped Aziraphale so deeply the angel was afraid that his spine would snap, and he would once again have to deal with the struggle of being non corporeal, but to his surprise the old vessel seemed up to the task.

Crowley’s face hovered a few inches above his, a wide and wicked grin slathered across it. “I got the job,” he said.

“Oh congratulations,” Aziraphale said with a warm smile. He could see it in the way Crowley moved, pulling him back upright, spinning him around once more, catching him as he was struggling to not trip over his two left feet. The smell of hell lingered on his clothes and the flare of sin echoed in his voice. Crowley was himself again.

They shared their second ever kiss. This one was new and exciting and they both seemed enraptured by it for quite a long time, and eventually Crowley said, “You taste like heaven. Literally. You taste like the sweetness in the air, the cool breeze and radiant warmth. I can… I can taste the metal of the golden gates and soft wings brushing together.”

“You taste like hell. I’ve only been there once and it wasn’t pleasant but… oh screw it, it’s not like I’m going to get into more trouble am I? It had always been a curiosity of mine, to know what it was like down there. That brief misadventure aside, I’m still curious. You taste like, well, fire and spices and… sin. You taste like smoke from burning books and brimstone and divine rebellion.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Crowley said.

“It’s… it’s…” Aziraphale’s eyes danced as he searched for the right word. _Don’t say scrumptious, do not say scrumptious, please do not say scrumptious,_ thought Crowley. Unbeknownst to him, that was exactly what Aziraphale was thinking also. “I think I’m forgetting the taste, you better give me a quick refresher,” he said pulling Crowley’s face to his again.

 

 

Aziraphale checked his pocket watch, tapping his fingers on the table in time with the tick of the second hand. He pocketed the watch, appropriate to its name, and then his eye caught sight of a clock on the wall near his table, so he stared at that instead.

The waiter passed by offering to refill his glass of wine a third time, which he accepted, and he stared at his own reflection in the other full, untouched wine glass. Eventually, Crowley barrelled through the restaurant doors with no concern for subtlety. He ignored the waiter by the reservation list and headed straight for Aziraphale’s table, doing that wibbly wobbly sauntery wantery walk of his and collapsing into the chair.

“Nice of you to finally join me,” Aziraphale said raising his almost empty glass. Crowley reciprocated, lifting his and clinking them together.

Crowley’s face shone with a mischievous smirk. “Sorry darling, work stuff, you know how it is.”

“I certainly hope I do not,” Aziraphale said. “I still haven’t decided if I want to know what you get up to or if it’s better to remain in total obliviousness.”

Crowley just stared at him, reading every microcosm of the angel’s face. “I can tell you if you want-”

“Oh yes please,” said Aziraphale leaning closer.

“So, I’ve been formulating this plan where I sow fears about high school sex education into the minds of parents, which hopefully will then lead to a reformation in school systems to cut programs and generate reproductive ignorance.”

“Oh that’s diabolical,” Aziraphale said, and then frowned. “Is it?”

“Well you see then there’s phase two where we get the teenagers pregnant-”

A waiter arrived at their table asking for their order. Aziraphale, who had had nothing but reading the menu to entertain him for the past half hour immediately ordered his entrée and main but asked for a bit more thinking time on the dessert.

“I uh,” Crowley’s fingers hovered over the menu and landed randomly on something. “I’ll just have that.”

“The… the dinner for two?” the waiter asked, confused.

“Yes.”

“Just for yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Are you… are you sure? That meal consists of-”

“The customer is _always right_ is he not?” Crowley asked, and then leant over the table and mumbled into Aziraphale’s ear, “Our lot invented that phrase.”

“I know,” he hissed back.

The waiter looked more lost than before. Aziraphale patted the waiter’s arm, “Ignore him, we’ll just share.” The waiter nodded and departed.

“We’ll share? That’s a first,” said Crowley.

“You were saying?” prompted Aziraphale.

“Huh, oh the pregnancies. Yes well… um… actually, I probably shouldn’t really be talking about that. It’s a multi-phase plan so it’d kind of be embarrassing if it got thwarted before it really got off the ground.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said drinking the last of his wine. Crowley took to looking around at the restaurant. It was very high class. Aziraphale did not discriminate when it came to restaurants, years of experience had taught him that the best food could be found in small, rundown, family-owned establishments, however he was recently growing more desperate to find food which was unique and extravagant. This was the first place Crowley had been with real silverware in quite some time.

He could tolerate this but when Aziraphale was destined to eventually discover ‘experimental restaurants’ that’s where he would draw the line. He remembered overhearing an incident about one of his co-workers being served a glass of holy water as some sort of art-form beverage. Luckily it wasn’t authentic but still, brushes with death like that were pretty terrifying. There should be a law against mislabelling water as such, and there should probably be a licence for brandishing holy water at all.

Aziraphale’s hands tapped the table, still in time with the second hand of his watch. Then he ran his fingers along the spine of the menu. Then he reached over and took Crowley’s wine and began to drink that too.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice warbled inside of the glass.

“You seem… antsy.”

“M’ not antsy. Or akin to any other bug for that matter,” Aziraphale said.

“I’ve never heard you butcher the English language like that. Come on, out with it.”

“There’s nothing, I swear,” he said, finishing off the wine. He placed it on the table and ran his finger along the rim. Maybe he should learn how to do that thing where you make the glass make music by rubbing it. That seemed like a good hobby. “Okay maybe I _am_ antsy. It’s just… ugh I’m the same as you, I’ve been keeping an eye out. Seeing the little acts of badness, documenting ways I could subtly make the world a better place, it’s just… I’m not allowed to. It’s frustrating.”

“You want your old job back?”

“Oh so desperately,” he said.

“Have you tried asking?”

“I’m a little afraid to,” Aziraphale said.

“Well… you can still do miracles so why not just do them?”

“Accountancy will get annoyed.”

“ _Accountancy_?”

“Yes, a rather large and wrathful department. If I interfere too much it will skew their numbers. Because I’m not on their payroll they won’t be able to document me properly and they’ll get pretty mad.”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe they’ll tell higher ups about how impressive you are.”

“Oh no I don’t think so.”

“Surely. They’ll be like, oh hey there’s about seven hundred more puppies being adopted in London maybe it’s time to bring our ole’ friend Aziraphale back onto the team.”

“No, no, no they don’t work like that at all,” Aziraphale said attempting to sip the glass he had just put down but realising it was tragically empty.

The waiter arrived with the singular entrée of shrimp scampi. Crowley picked up his silverware fork Aziraphale took his own, as well as the whole plate and started eating. Crowley sat back in his chair holding the fork uselessly in the air.

“Maybe you should… take up magic tricks again?” Crowley suggested reluctantly.

“Maybe,” Aziraphale said, his mouth half full as he shovelled food in. “I mean I have plenty of _things_ to keep me occupied, but that’s all it is; _being occupied_. I don’t just want to be distracted I want to be doing something. Something substantial that actually matters in the grand scheme of things. Working on The Great Plan 2.0.”

“Can’t help you, I’m afraid,” Crowley said. “My expertise is demon work. If you needed help navigating the employment field of hell then I could help you but otherwise I’m all out of advice.”

In one large mouthful Aziraphale finished the last of the entrée. Despite eating in a manner vulgar enough to unease a literal snake, he still dabbed at his mouth politely with his cloth napkin before he spoke. “Well I certainly hope it doesn’t come to that. But I suppose, if it really starts to get on my nerves, I could give heaven a call.”

 

 

Crowley woke up like he had done for many, many previous mornings, in the warmth of Aziraphale’s bed, with the angel lying beside him reading.

“What are you reading?” he asked, barely opening his eyes and drawing himself closer to Aziraphale. He had several hours before his latest work plan had to be seen to, he could take the morning slow and lazy, as was his preference.

“Some Oscar Wilde,” Aziraphale said.

“Again?” Crowley asked.

“Again. He is one of my favourites,” Aziraphale said.

“Did you ever meet him?” Crowley asked.

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said, and a smile the likes of which Crowley had never seen before crossed the angel’s mouth. “Intimately.”

Crowley’s brain short circuited in a way so severe that it made his disruption of the London telephone network scheme look like a party trick. “Is that so,” he managed to say. “Hang on, I thought angels mating with humans was super against God’s rules.”

“Yes, it is. But what we did doesn’t technically count as sex in the Good Book. _Mechanically_.”

“Well that’s a neat little loophole isn’t it?” he said. “Done that with many humans have we?”

“No not many. Less than you’d expect.”

“One has been far more than I expected,” Crowley said.

“Really? I thought you would have… thousands of years they’ve been around you didn’t think of ever trying it?”

“No!” Crowley recoiled. “They’ve had diseases up the wazoo, and famines making them bony and sick, and they were getting married at ridiculously young ages.”

“Not even in old Greece? What did you think all the olive oil was for?”

“I knew what the oil was for I just had no interest in using it,” Crowley said. “And I still don’t.”

“Well they’ve rather progressed in technology so you don’t need to use oil anymore,” Aziraphale said. Crowley was not amused. “You seem upset.”

“I’m not upset I’m just, surprised. And… trying to update everything I’ve ever known about you.”

“ _If_ you must know, there’s only been three times. The first was in ancient Greece. _I_ didn’t know what the oil was for and a gentleman was kind enough to demonstrate for me. The second was Oscar Wilde, and the third was at a gentlemen’s club. A regular had a fondness for me and he was quite the sweet talker.”

“Well, I’ve just never felt the desire to try it. Not with a human,” Crowley said, sitting up and looking down at Aziraphale where he lay. “I don’t think demons care for it, we find humans quite repulsive.”

“Other angels don’t care for it either,” Aziraphale said. “But if we’ve established anything about the two of us, it’s that we’re outlier connoisseurs of worldly pleasures. I have to say though, kissing you is much more dimensional than kissing a human is. As for, _other activities_ , if you’re interested, we can see what they’re like.” They held eyes for a while before Crowley kissed him, and then again, and then a third time. Crowley sank back down, resting his head on Aziraphale’s chest.

“Another time perhaps,” Crowley said. Aziraphale smiled and picked his book back up. “Read it to me.”

“I’d love to,” the angel said.

 

 

The prayer rune was exactly as Aziraphale had left it. He pulled back the rug, lit the candles and began to pray. The circle lit up quickly, as though his call was expected. Well, it _was_ heaven after all, hardly anything happened that they were not expecting.

“Hello it’s me, Azira-” he began.

Instantly an angel, Raphael, appeared before him, stepping out of the circle. “You want your job back,” she said.

“Y-yes. Ultimately,” Aziraphale began. “I underst-”

“There are reparations to be made. You have broken many rules of heaven, Aziraphale. As recent as last night, even.”

“Oh… what did I do last night?”

“Expressions of lust, pride in discovering biblical ‘loopholes’, frequent lying which, even if it is lying to a demon, is still not an action weighted in your favour. Speaking of said demon, sharing heaven’s secrets with him. But the main activity heaven is upset with you about is the absurd amount of miracles you have been performing for personal gratification.”

“Ah yes I should probably cut back on those,” Aziraphale said.

“You will cut back. You are being restricted to performing one miracle per week. How you use it will be closely monitored and evaluated. Heaven also acknowledges your relationship with the demon Crowley is unlikely to end soon, so if you perform exceptionally, the possibility of your reinstation despite your unethical relationship is up for consideration.”

“Good heavens,” Aziraphale said, feeling lighter than he had ever felt. So light, full of joy and excitement that he thought he would ascend and float off the ground where he kneeled.

“Aziraphale, I cannot emphasise enough how _unlikely_ it is we will reinstate you. After… after everything you have done you should be more than grateful you are an angel at all. No matter what, it will be a very long time before you are working for heaven again at full status. In the meantime, do good… just not as recklessly as you usually do it.”

“Of course, thank you, thank you,” Aziraphale praised, and the light around him died down and he was alone once more. He re-covered the prayer circle and tried and failed to refrain from doing a jolly swagger as he made his way to put on a pot of tea, the old fashioned way, manually.


	2. Part 2 - What happened after that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries to do good.

 It was raining in London. Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to go on a walk in the sunshine with Crowley, but it had been raining for almost 3 days straight. His eyes glazed over as he again failed to read the page of his current book. He’d been reading so many books lately. So many. And every day was another restaurant or another play or another movie then followed by a night with another two books. The only thing stopping him from feeling like a bird trapped in a cage was Crowley, who came back to the bookstore with new stories about his misadventures, and who grew each day more and more affectionate. Life for Aziraphale was the fulfilment of 6000 years of yearning mixed with a new form of torture.

 

“Why don’t we ever go to my flat?” Crowley asked, putting his feet on top of a pile of books as he reclined on the bookstore’s reading couch.

“Oh, it’s just… well everything’s already here. All my books and such.”

“Let’s go back to mine after lunch,” Crowley said.

“Uh, no, no let’s not,” Aziraphale said turning the page of a rather giant tome he was pretending to read. He leant in closer to it, hoping Crowley would think he was far too busy to continue this conversation.

“Why not?” Crowley pressed.

“Um well, you see, it’s just that… I don’t really like your flat.”

“You’ve only been there once.”

“Yes, and I would like to keep it that way,” Aziraphale said, turning another large page even though he hadn’t read the previous one at all. His eyes looked pointedly at the paper. (Hmm interesting, very interesting almost interesting enough to make _me_ forget what we’re talking about, if only that would happen for _you_ , he thought.)

“What don’t you like about it?”

“Um well let’s see, uh I’d have to say literally everything. Everything about it. I don’t like a thing.”

“Come on. My place, just once, after lunch.”

“No, thank you.”

“You can tell me everything you don’t like and maybe, _maybe,_ I’ll change a few things. Do it for me?” Crowley put his hands under his chin and battered his eyelashes like an innocent schoolgirl. The effect was somewhat ruined by the serpentine eyes behind said lashes. “Please?”

“Fine.”

 

 

Crowley’s front door unlocked with a wave of his hand and he opened the door. He stepped inside, caught sight of two figures in his flat, took several steps backwards, bumping into Aziraphale who had attempted to follow him in, and shoved the angel back outside.

“Um, one slight problem. Wait here a tick,” Crowley said.

“Why Crowley what’s-” but Crowley had slithered inside and shut the door solidly in his face. Aziraphale stood on the doorstep and waited.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley hissed to the two demons standing in his living room.

“We’re here to discuss your recent activities. Head office wants to know your plans. They want to know the benefit of all these parent teacher meetings you’ve been attending. It just doesn’t sound very demonic or relevant to obtaining souls at all.”

“It’s a five-part plan, of course it starts out unimpressive, but it will have a significant impact in time. Tell you what, you pop on down to hell and tell them I’ll do a full write up of the plan, and also tell them to be really excited to read it.”

“Okay Crowley,” the other demon said. She gave Crowley a long cold stare. “We still don’t trust you, you know.”

“Yes, I know. Trust takes time, and with enough time I’ll prove myself. But for now, I’m a demon, you’re a demon, it’s only natural for us not to trust each other. But you must be on your way, I’m… busy.”

The two demons looked at each other. “Got another PTA meeting to get to?” one said sardonically.

“Yes, yes. PTA meeting, it’s very soon I need to change and get into character so if you would please,” Crowley said, his arms more desperately waving towards the door.

“Very well, see you soon,” said the demon, tipping her hat. The two left through the front door and Crowley felt the tension leave his body. Then he felt it painfully inject its way back in again as Aziraphale was still standing on his front doorstep.

The demons stared at him, and he stared back at them, and then one demon turned and shot Crowley a wink. He turned to Aziraphale and leaned in close, “Don’t have too much fun.”

“Oh um… thank you?” Aziraphale said to him. Aziraphale watched the two demons stalk away before he stepped inside. “I already hate being here.”

“Because of them?” Crowley said. “Terribly sorry, I had no idea they’d be here.”

“No, not that I just… I hate your flat _so much_ ,” he said walking further in. There were more plants than he remembered. “The plants for starters. They’re just radiating pain, Crowley. It saddens me. They’re so tortured, so unloved. I can hear it and feel it, constantly.”

“Ah, yes. Well, not much I can do about that, sorry. It’s kind of my favourite hobby.”

“I know you take great pride in it but it’s just, so upsetting.”

“Forget the plants. What else don’t you like?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale ran a hand along the corner of a wall, “Everything’s so dark, the corners are so sharp and the rooms are so cold.” Against the dark walls, Aziraphale’s white coat, white hair and heavenly aura was glaring. Crowley reluctantly agreed; this was no place for an angel.

Aziraphale made his way into the kitchen. “The cupboards, they’re all empty, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Crowley said.

“Everything’s so… unlived in. There’s no homeliness. There’s nothing. It barely even has _you_ in it.”

Crowley didn’t want to admit that Aziraphale was right. He was completely right. The bookstore was beautiful. It was Aziraphale’s home, and it was becoming his home too. This flat was just a space to him. Why did he insist they come here? Even _he_ didn’t like being here half of the time.

“Is there anything you do like?” Crowley asked. “What about that, do you like that?” he pointed to the statue of the two entangled figures, an angel and a demon ‘wrestling’.

Aziraphale took much longer to document the statue, and Crowley would’ve paid anything to know what he was thinking. “ _That_ can stay,” Aziraphale eventually said as a smirk plastered its way onto his face. “If we ever move in together you had better bring that with you.”

“If we ever,” Crowley said.

 

 

Lost in his book, Aziraphale had barely noticed Crowley slip out of the room. The TV was still running and after it seemed he had been gone for a bit too long, Aziraphale closed his novel, stood and started walking around the flat. The plants shivered when he neared them.

“I’m sorry I can’t exactly show you my usual miraculous kindness right now,” he said to them. “I don’t think it would count as important to the people up there… Yes, I agree it is supremely unfair… Of course I’ll have another word with him about it but I don’t think he’ll listen… No not even to me, not on this matter I’m afraid.”

He left the plants and wandered into the kitchen which was literally empty. Not only was there no food there wasn’t a single plate, piece of cutlery, towel or anything. Aziraphale came to the shocking conclusion that Crowley truly, honestly, wasn’t passionate about food at all. He just put up with it to entertain Aziraphale.

Finally, Aziraphale made his way to Crowley’s bedroom. The room was dark, but a light shone through a slit of the door of the ensuite. He passed the unmade bed and slid open the door. There Crowley stood with his tattered wings out, staring in a mirror. He barely acknowledged Aziraphale’s arrival. He reached up to one of his wings and plucked a feather easily out, as it had only been connected by a weak thread.

A demon’s wings are the same as an angel’s, except they are almost always better groomed. This was because wings were a gift from God, and once fallen a demon’s wings began to fall apart. It was a very slow process. After 6000 years, Crowley’s were only halfway decayed. A demon who took pride in his appearance groomed them. It was somewhat like a having a combover, a matter of delaying the inevitable for as long as possible.

Crowley grabbed a brush and ran it through the wing on his right shoulder, obsessing over a group of feathers which were tangled. Aziraphale reached out and touched a feather which had lost all of its fluff and all that remained was a large sharp barb. “You just leave it hanging here?” he asked.

“I used to cut them off,” Crowley explained. He stretched out his wings, and in several places barbs jutted out. “But my wings were getting too small, too pathetic. I keep them in now. They help remind me of the original size. Gives an illusion of volume.”

Aziraphale ran his finger along the wing. The feathers that remained were an enchanting shade of black. He placed a kiss to the crook of Crowley’s wing, and then made his way to stand behind Crowley, kissing the back of his neck and hugging him from behind. Crowley continued to stare solemnly at his own reflection.

“Take yours out,” Crowley said.

“Oh no, I don’t think that’s a good idea if you’re feeling self-conscious.”

“Just do it,” he demanded, sternly. In the mirror Aziraphale shot him a worried glance but obliged. The small bathroom could barely contain the large wings which filled it next. Crowley’s wings sank and then disappeared. He took a hold of Aziraphale’s hands, removing them from around him, hiding them behind his body. And then Crowley just stared, the reflection only showing him, and behind him large white wings. It had been a long, long time since his own were anywhere near this glorious. He eyed how tangled they were, the privilege to ignore them coming from a healthy plumage. If his wings were left unattended, holes and gaps would form which he would then need to brush and wax feathers around to try to hide.

Crowley grabbed the brush and started running it through Aziraphale’s wings. For the angel, it was a pleasant sensation, akin to having someone else’s fingers running through your hair. Aziraphale felt awkward, just standing there while Crowley groomed him, but he closed his eyes and indulged in the physical sensation. He wanted to return it, to make Crowley feel loved, to make him feel beautiful.

“I don’t care, you know,” Aziraphale said.

“You should, they look much better groomed,” Crowley said.

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Aziraphale said, grabbing a hold of Crowley’s hands. Aziraphale took the brush from him and tossed it to the floor before pulling Crowley out of the bathroom. It was a bit of a squeeze to get through the doorway with the wings, but he managed. “Show me your face.”

“Which one?”

“Your real one,” Aziraphale said.

“The snake?”

“Further than that.”

“I… can we… do that down here?”

“I don’t see why not. Although,” he gave a glance towards the bedroom windows. “Might want to shut the blinds first.”

Crowley didn’t even move, they instantly closed.

“I’ll go first,” Aziraphale said.

What happened next is something quite hard to describe to humans. In fact, it is literally impossible to. Aziraphale took on his real form, his angelic form. For Earthly comparisons, it consisted of something that looked like many rings with many eyes, several arms which were also several wings, and a lot of fire. The closest approximation for visual comparison would be artistic attempts to rendition ophanim angels, but it is important to remember that there were many details which the human mind just could not process which are obviously omitted from these renditions.

If a human were to walk into Crowley’s bedroom at this given moment they almost certainly would pass out, or at least get a sudden severe headache. It was the form which had coined the popular angelic phrase, “Be not afraid” which was almost always unsuccessfully followed by a tremendous amount of fear.

“I like the crown,” Crowley said. “And the sceptre.”

Then Crowley changed. He looked much the same, and yet he looked quite different. His wings were black, tattered. His rings were rusted and had fractures throughout. All of his eyes were serpentine.

In a demon’s flat in London, Aziraphale looked upon what he considered to be, divine perfection.

 

 

It was cold, not quite weather for a stroll, but the rain had stopped for a spell and Aziraphale was itching to get some fresh air. He stepped outside his bookshop, popped into a few stores for writing supplies, new books, and an off handed chat with his local grocer on what movies he should see. On his way back to his shop a young girl sped down the footpath on her bicycle far too quickly and crashed into him, causing them both to fall over in a tangle.

By the time Aziraphale stood up he registered his things scattered about the footpath, several fruits rolling onto the busy road and the girl on the pavement beside her fallen bicycle.

“Here young lady, take my hand,” Aziraphale said.

“Can’t, my knee’s bleeding,” she said.

“No, it’s not,” he said. She looked down to see her knees clean and healed.

“Oh, that’s strange I could’ve sworn they were,” she took his hand and pulled herself up, still feeling a little disoriented.

“I guess you got lucky,” Aziraphale said with a smile, “but you should slow down when it’s busy from now on.”

“Right, I’m terribly sorry about that,” she said, picking her bike up and wheeling away.

Aziraphale began to pick up what he could, a few books and pens, the strange paperweight he had found in an antique store, and then he turned to find Crowley standing behind him. “Missing these?” he asked, the rest of Aziraphale’s lost items suddenly appearing in his arms. He reached into the bag and pulled out an apple biting into it, before passing the bag over to Aziraphale.

“Yes, thank you. Doing things the manual way is a little tedious, but still, I’d much rather save my miracles for something important.”

“Like fixing a grazed knee that would be fine in a matter of days. If that’s a miracle than I should get my guys onto thwarting Band-Aid next.”

“Get your guys onto it?” he asked.

“Yes. Oh, I didn’t tell you,” Crowley said. He clapped his hands together and then held them out twinkling his fingers as a wide grin crossed his face. “I got a promotion!”

“Oh congratulations,” Aziraphale said. If he were a more virtuous angel he would not feel jealousy at hearing those words, not that he exactly was an angel of virtue anymore. “You’ve only been back for five months and you’re already making a splash, eh?”

“Yeah, the big guys were super impressed with my youth-pregnancy scheme and realised it will have a much bigger effect if I had a team working for me. So now I have my own team! I’m a boss. I tell other guys what to do which means less scurrying around and more doing the things I enjoy, like planning mischief, barking orders and then spending my evenings with my favourite angel, relaxing, while the heavy lifting is being done elsewhere.”

“That’s… wow. Good job,” Aziraphale said giving Crowley’s shoulder a light punch. “Um what youth-pregnancy scheme?”

“Oh right! I can tell you about that now,” Crowley said, following Aziraphale as they began to walk towards the bookstore. “So, remember that thing I was doing a few months ago, you know, causing a decline in sex education by whispering in the ears of some pearl clutching mothers, well there’s been a change to school policies already, go me! So the next step is generating unwanted pregnancies.”

“And this relates to hellish activities how?” Aziraphale asked, a bitter taste forming on his tongue as the words came out. They reached the edge of the footpath and he pressed the crossing light button while Crowley bounded his way across the busy street. “I don’t think I should be jaywalking,” he called.

“That’s fine I’ll wait!” Crowley shouted standing on the other side of the road. “So, the unwanted pregnancies will soon be on the rise! Which means in a few years’ time there will be more orphans! Which is phase 3 which I shouldn’t tell you about yet!”

“Okay that’s nice dear,” Aziraphale called, ignoring the strange stares passing people gave them. Finally, the light changed and he hobbled across the street to join Crowley. When they made it to the front door of the bookshop, Crowley closed and locked the door behind them and shut the blinds.

“Thought we could celebrate my promotion with that new little _dance_ of ours,” he said raising his sunglasses and winking.

“Oh, you tempt me so.”

 

 

“You really should try being nice to them,” Aziraphale said with a sorrowful gaze towards Crowley’s plants. It had been two months since he had last been in Crowley’s flat, and he honestly wasn’t sure how Crowley had persuaded him to come back. The company was fine but the space itself was still so repulsive.

“Nah, that’d never work,” Crowley said.

“It _would_ work. I ought to give it a go. Growing a plant with only kindness, just to prove you wrong.”

“Sounds _very_ virtuous,” he said snidely. There was a knock at the door and Aziraphale rose to open it. A pizza delivery boy so young he clearly had only just learned how to drive passed over their order, and Aziraphale handed over some cash. The delivery boy counted it exact to the order and was about to walk away when Aziraphale called after him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-pound note which had not been in there seconds before. Another little miracle accepted with a smile.

Aziraphale sat back down beside Crowley where he began to eat in front of the TV.

“Crowley excellent work the other day!” the newscaster began to say.

“Oh, _fantastic_ ,” Crowley muttered under his breath. “Now isn’t a good time, I’m with company.”

“Worry not, prying eyes are no issue, your work is already fully in motion. Rousing the interest of conservative parents in education means we’re expecting not only a significant cut to sex education but to many other areas of education including science and health. Good work Crowley. We’re looking forward to meeting with you soon to discuss the next stage of your career.”

“Excellent, okay see you then,” Crowley said, shutting off the TV.

He slowly turned his head to look at the angel sitting beside him. Without blinking or breaking eye contact, Aziraphale took a huge bite of pizza. He chewed slowly, swallowed and then said, “Still ruining the lives of children are we? Fantastic work Crowley. Tip top.”

“It _is_ fantastic work,” Crowley said sitting up and leaning close. He stared into Aziraphale’s eyes. “I’m exceptionally good at my job. My schemes are better and more efficient than anything any of the idiots I call co-workers have ever pulled off. Better than anything any of my bosses have ever done. But I tell you what Aziraphale. I’ll quit it in an instant, you just say the word.”

“I- I couldn’t possibly…”

“Of course you could. I’ve been doing demon work for a long time. A long, long time. But being with you, _really_ being with you I mean, that’s something new. Having the chance to see what happens between us next, that’s more important than anything to me. More important than work.”

“Oh for the last time, I’m not upset by your evil actions… I’m jealous,” Aziraphale said. “All I can do is one measly little miracle. I want to be doing something good. Something really good. I want to be… thwarting you like old times. Mobilising parents into proactive education reformation to spite your actions. But my most ambitious plans of late has been giving kindness to a potted plant.” He turned and mouthed an apology to the plants around him.

“Patience,” Crowley said. “You have all the time in the world remember, which is a lot more time than we used to have.” Aziraphale wanted to be patient, to enjoy the life he had now. But it was hard being stationary, watching the world move around him, unable to really be a part of it. It was especially hard when Crowley was flourishing and changing it significantly.

Crowley was not good at ‘soft smiles’. He was too sharp, too angular, his teeth were too pointy, too carnivorous, but he tried to give one, and it comforted Aziraphale like a strong glass of wine. Fiercely, but only temporarily.

 

 

It had been raining for weeks, and somehow it was still raining. Aziraphale stared wistfully out the window as rain continued to run down the panes of glass. Since when did it rain this much in London? He wanted to leave the bookstore so badly, craved a stroll in the park, even just for an hour. And surely, _surely_ there were other people in London who also longed to be outdoors. Young couples who needed to be outside in nature to fall in love. Children who needed vitamin D and exercise. Elderly people who longed for the warm sunshine.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, rousing the sleeping demon. “Get dressed we’re going for a walk.”

“Out there?” he asked, pointing to the intensifying downpour.

“Leave it to me,” the angel said with a wink.

When Crowley stood up his hair was messy and his clothes were dishevelled. With a wave of his hand he was put together. He slid on his sunglasses and crooked an elbow for Aziraphale to take. They stood at the front doors to the bookshop arm in arm, and with a wave of Aziraphale’s hand the skies instantly cleared and the sun shone. They took one step outside and Aziraphale vanished.

 

 

“You have broken our deal Aziraphale,” Raphael said. Around her was a council of angels.

“How so? That was a miracle for the better-”

“Do not try to lie to _us_. You know just as well as we do that that was a miracle of personal wish fulfilment and nothing more. As for your other miracles, fixing a grazed knee, finding a lost kitten, summoning a tip for a meal, these are all so menial. We were looking for you to make a real change Aziraphale, not just make a few people’s days better here and there. The deal is annulled. You are forbidden from performing miracles and you have lost your chance to be reinstated with your old position.”

“No, no, please don’t say that. There must be a way.”

“You have proven that you have no conviction, no self-control, no ambition and no devotion to the rules and laws of heaven. Even heaven’s mercy has its limits, and you have shown that you have no place here.”

“Please, I’ll do anything,” Aziraphale begged.

“Can you prove utter devotion to heaven?”

“Yes. Yes, I can. I _will_. Speak your wish and it is my command.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said.

The council exchanged glances but no words. There was nodding. “Very well,” Raphael continued. “You can have your powers and your divine role restored so long as you relinquish all contact with the demon Crowley.”

“What?!”

“This is how you can prove devotion to heaven. You are not to talk to him, not to see him, and you will be relocated to another country.”

“Another country?! England is my home.”

“Heaven is your home!”

“Yes… I… yes of course. But not seeing Crowley? No, you can’t do that. You slimy bastards there never was any original deal, was there? This was your plan all along wasn’t it, to separate me from him?”

Raphael stood and a powerful light shone behind her. “Aziraphale remember your place! There was a deal, and _you_ broke it. For 6000 years you have been breaking rules at your own whim, and for 6000 years you have paid no consequences. It is time for your actions to be accounted for. In your pride you have forgotten you are but one angel. You are not exceptional; you are not even top performing. You can easily be replaced. We do not have the time nor care to devise schemes to break up your relationship with Crowley, but we have decided that this is how you can prove your devotion. So, do you accept?”

Aziraphale thought, fast. His logic and his heart and his soul all battled for a spotlight in his decision-making process. “Yes, I accept.”

“Wait, really?” another angel said.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” a third angel whispered.

“When we say no contact with him, we mean it Aziraphale,” Raphael said.

“I know.”

“Very well then,” Raphael said. “It is settled.”

“If I may be so bold…” Aziraphale cut in, desperately.

“When have you ever not been?” Raphael sighed.

“Can I at least say goodbye to him?”

“You have three minutes.” Raphael clapped her hands together and Aziraphale was instantly back where he had left off, one step outside of his bookstore.

Crowley, who had been standing there alone, confused for quite some time, turned to him with surprise.

“Where have you been?”

Aziraphale grabbed him by the collar of his coat. “Crowley, I don’t have much time. I’m afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things. I screwed up bad. And well… heaven gave me an ultimatum. The only chance I had left to get my job back was to swear to them I would never see you again. To prove my devotion.”

Crowley let out a sharp laugh. “Well then, how many different ways did you tell them to stuff it?” Aziraphale was silent. It took a moment for Crowley to realise what that meant. “No.”

“I accepted.”

“How?!”

“I can’t keep doing this. You, you have to be a demon and I have to be an angel at my full power again. It’s just too painful seeing bad things happening around me and not being able to do anything about it. Even a human has more right to intervene than I do.”

“I can quit being a demon,” Crowley said. “Working as one I mean.”

“No, you can’t. You were miserable before you got your job back. You’re too clever; too passionate. You weren’t yourself and now you are again. You’re happy again, and I’m…”

“I was happy. I am happy. Are you… are you not happy?”

Aziraphale didn’t want to admit it. He was happy, in some ways happier than he had ever been, but in other ways he was more restricted, more miserable than ever. “No, I’m not.”

The demon’s face didn’t at all hide how much those words broke him. “Well then, what happens now?” he asked.

“They said I could never see you again. Never. And I haven’t really processed what that means but this is something I must commit to.” Aziraphale leant closer to him, inviting a kiss. “Forgive me.”

“I-”

And then Aziraphale vanished once more.

 

 

Aziraphale was suddenly in the middle of his bookstore. Everything was exactly as he had left it, even the teapot from the morning was still semi-warm. Cautiously, he looked around the place. All seemed normal. Every book, scroll, paper, unfiled knickknack was exactly where it should be. He looked out the front door and Crowley was nowhere to be seen. And then Aziraphale realised London was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was in Paris.

 

 

For the second time in the past ten minutes, Crowley was spontaneously alone. Being spontaneously alone was quite a jarring experience. It took a few moments for one’s mind to catch up and task-switch. When the person you were planning on spending your entire day with suddenly vanishes, you needed to come up with what new thing to do next and Crowley didn’t think he was up to the task.

The first time he had just stood there, outside of the bookstore, peeking around the corner not quite sure what he was looking for. Now he just stood there in front of… that wasn’t the bookstore. It was a building much the same shape but completely empty inside with a ‘For Rent or Sale’ sign on the front window. Crowley realised Aziraphale would not be coming back this time.

He supposed… he could get back to work? No, not yet. He straightened the jacket Aziraphale had been clinging to just a few moments ago, noted the number on the ‘For Sale’ sign, and pulled out his phone, preparing to make a purchase.

 

 

Paris had a lot of problems and Aziraphale was itching to get back into the swing of things. Yes, his last time in France had left some bitter memories involving a jail cell and the sounds of wet slicing outside, but the day had ended fine enough with good food and good company.

“Well, I suppose just the food will have to do for now,” Aziraphale said to himself. Not for now, for ever, he thought as the weight of his promise started to fully dawn on him.

After several days of meticulous observation he had devised a few plans of action. He began by politely suggesting to fine establishments that they should forbid the smoking of cigarettes indoors as a kindly gesture to those who wished to live a toxin free life, as well as those who suffered from breathing difficulties. After he was permanently banned from seven of Paris’ most esteemed restaurants he gave up on that plan entirely. It was far too costly.

 

 

Crowley stood alone in his flat. He had stood alone in his flat many times before, but this was a different kind of alone. Historically he had stood alone because there was no one else to stand in his flat with. Then there had been someone to stand here with him, although it was rare and reluctant. He had also had the option to go and stand not-alone in the bookshop. Now Crowley stood alone because his choice of company had decided to not stand with him anymore. It had been one month.

He walked to the kitchen pulling out the two whiskey glasses which now lived in his cupboard as well as some malt liquor. Additions made by Aziraphale. He poured himself a glass, clinked it with the other empty one and said, “To us.”

The moment the drink was done he pulled out his phone and made a few calls. Shortly after that his house was filled with five demons; his team of subordinates.

“Phase two of the plan,” he began. “Is to increase teenage pregnancies.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” asked one of the demons.

“Easy, we help teenagers fall in love,” Crowley said. “Or at least help them find people who are sweaty and hormonal enough to make them think they’re in love and drive them to act lustfully.”

“Of course,” said another demon standing up to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going shit-for-brains, I haven’t told you _how_ we’re going to do that yet!”

“Of course,” he said sitting back down.

“We need school dances. And… warm weather for more revealing school uniforms. We need adults’ events in the afternoons so parents leave the house for predictable hours allowing boyfriends to be snuck upstairs. And we need young celebrities boasting about relationships on social media,” Crowley explained. “We need all of this in full swing before Valentine’s day. That’s going to be our most important day.”

“Crowley, can I ask, why exactly do we want a bunch of babies?”

“It’s simple,” he said, leaning against the wall. One of his houseplants recoiled slightly from his proximity. “More unwanted babies means more orphans. More orphans means more humans, _with souls_ , growing up impoverished. Overflowing orphanages and bad adoption systems with children receiving advice from the wrong crowd, aka a bunch of demons, basically results in a direct factory to make one go from child to sinner. Which means more souls for our team. Do you follow? Good. So… what are you waiting for, go get to work!”

The assembly of demons began to shuffle out of the apartment. One pointed at Crowley, smiled and said, “You’re a useful one, you are. Wasn’t sure about having you back on the team after that holy water stint you pulled, _traitor_ , but you’re making yourself valuable again. Not bad.”

When the door shut Crowley was alone. He turned to look at the houseplant. “Don’t like my new choice of company do you? Well too bad,” and then he drew in close and shouted so loud that the leaves rattled from his breath, “BECAUSE THE ANGEL’S NOT COMING BACK!”

 

 

It just wasn’t the same. Yes, it felt good, campaigning for healthcare, participating in debates of religious freedom, rescuing a person here and there. It _was_ good, and it gave him purpose, but it was missing something. Well, there was no point pretending he _didn’t_ know what it was missing. It was missing Crowley. Paris had its own demons, tempting the city’s youth into drugs and gangs. He was there to provide rehabilitation and employment pathways. But it wasn’t the back and forth of his and Crowley’s glory days.

The problem was he didn’t think he wanted those glory days back either. Things were different between them now. They hadn’t been adversaries for a long time but now they weren’t even on opposite sides in his personal theology. He believed they were on the same side, testing humans for better or worse. Two different firms both working for God’s grand plan.

Aziraphale felt trapped. More trapped than those days stuck in a rainy bookshop. That had been nothing compared to how he felt now. He felt collared, chained. He felt like his wings were clipped now more so than before, even though he could perform all the miracles he wanted to. All he wanted was two things, to be an angel and to be with Crowley. Was that so much ask?

…And that was exactly the kind of thinking which had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He picked up his briefcase, put on his hat and made his way to his French lessons. Afterall, you couldn’t help teach immigrants a language you didn’t know yourself, could you?

 

 

Crowley hated everything about his flat. He had a lot of free time on his hands now that he had lackeys carrying out orders. He went to plays alone, and parks alone, and even went to restaurants but almost every part of London had a memory of Aziraphale attached to it.

When he came back to his flat, bare walls and terrified plants didn’t welcome him.

Eventually he decided there was no point in avoiding it. Like all of hell’s creatures he was accustomed to abandonment. Instead of pretending like heaven didn’t exist, demons chose instead to dwell on it. In their rebellion they thought about heaven daily. Obsessively.

It started with a plant. A brand new one. He bought it from a store so it would be unsocialised to the ones in his flat, and he placed it in the middle of the empty floorspace of what had formerly been the bookstore.

Saying nice things was hard. He didn’t know how to do it at all.

“You’re looking great,” he said, but it came out as a snivel.

Over the weeks the bookstore space was filled with playbills and takeaway containers and books and newspapers. Over the months he brought a chair in, a bookshelf, a couch, a TV. Over the years he brought back two whiskey glasses and different liquors. At some point the plant had withered and died.

And not once did it ever feel like home.

 

 

It was Romeo and Juliet which eventually did it. Aziraphale found the book in his store and re-read it, and all the while he was thinking about Crowley. He had been right; this was a funny story. Two families so bent on hating each other that their children suffered, what a silly little narrative. What a stupid problem it was in hindsight.

Crowley had also been right that it _was_ written about the two of them. Defying the wills of their homes, it was in their nature. It was their manifest destiny. To think there existed idiots who would try to keep lovers who were so intensely magnetised to each other apart. Frankly, it was hilarious.

 

 

Crowley was standing in an alleyway, halfway through explaining new instructions to one of his subordinates when a familiar voice shouted his name. Down the way sure enough there was Aziraphale standing in the sunlight looking just as he had when he last saw him four years ago.

“Uh can we, can we reschedule this?” he said turning back to the demon he was talking to. “Just… glue some coins to the sidewalk or something to occupy your time.” He stepped away and headed to the angel. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he said with a hiss.

“Oh, stuff the rules.”

“Stuff the rules?! You love rules!” Crowley said. “You’re bad at following them but you believe in them and you usually at least try.”

“I did try. But sometimes rules are just too strict,” Aziraphale said. “I couldn’t do it. Not forever, I missed you too much.”

“Heaven doesn’t play around Aziraphale. They’re expecting this. You really shouldn’t be here.”

“I’ve been doing fine work,” Aziraphale said, becoming a little cross. “I’m ahead of schedule in fact. This will be a short trip and I’ll be back in Paris by tomorrow, working miracles and spreading joy. Surely there’s no harm in taking an evening for myself?”

“There’s a lot of harm to be had,” Crowley said. Slowly his scowl relented. He looked at the angel, _his_ angel. His familiar face, radiant warmth. His coat and suit were the same. He was the same. The one constant in his life. He’d been a fool to ever believe Aziraphale wouldn’t come back. Relatively speaking, he hadn’t even been gone for that long. “I missed you too.”

“What have you been up to?” Aziraphale asked, his own face softening as Crowley warmed up to his presence.

“Same old, same old. Moved into your old place actually,” Crowley said.

“But my bookstore’s in Paris.”

“Well, I moved into the space it used to be in then. Say… do you want to know what I realised while you were away? What took me 6000 years to realise for some damn reason?”

“What did you realise?” Aziraphale asked.

“That in all of heaven, all of hell, all of Earth, you are the only person who has or will ever be nice to me. Nice. I mean sure I’ve gotten a few compliments for the way I dress…”

“Really?” Aziraphale was surprised.

“ _Yes_ ,” Crowley answered, slightly offended. “But they mean nothing. No one cares about me. They only care about what I can do for them.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve been awfully nice to you lately,” Aziraphale said.

“Better make it up to me then,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale held out his arms and Crowley stepped forwards, reaching for a hug and the moment they touched Aziraphale was gone.

“Oh for heaven’s bloody sake!”

 

 

“Aziraphale!” Raphael’s voice boomed.

“Ah. Fuck,” Aziraphale said.

“You have disappointed us for the last time.”

“Surely it wasn’t that big of a deal. You can’t fire me for one mistake.”

“A _mistake_?! One does not accidently cross the English Channel and bump into the one demon he shouldn’t be in contact with. That is no mistake. As for claiming that that mistake is the only one you’ve made, Aziraphale is there a sin you are _not_ guilty of?!” Raphael’s voice carried a fury like nothing Aziraphale had ever heard before. “Firstly, your gluttony is so tremendous it motivated you to defy your comrades and prevent The Great Plan entirely. Your lust has had you engage in unbecoming actions with humans _and_ a demon. Your greed has had you repeatedly defy the will of heaven for your own desires. Your sloth has had you perform some of the most frivolous miracles we have ever witnessed. You’ve admitted jealousy towards the success of a demon. And your pride, your hubris, to try to lie to us, to demand forgiveness from us over and over. Just about the only sin you are not guilty of is wrath, the one thing an angel is supposed to do!”

“I’m terribly sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it will not.”

“I will never let you down again I swear,” Aziraphale scrambled for apologies.

“You misunderstand, you will never disappoint heaven again, because you will won’t be given the chance to do so.”

Then Aziraphale’s body felt different, both his human-like form and his celestial being. In all of his 6000 years of existing he had felt many different sensations, but nothing compared to how he felt now. The clouds beneath his feet were suddenly too soft, so soft he sank right through, no longer able to stand on them.

And then Aziraphale fell.


	3. Part 3 - What they did then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What really counts as doing good, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i drew a visual representation of halo / horns which is discussed in this chapter  
> https://apocahipster.tumblr.com/post/185838771549/aziraphale-falling-vs-crowley-vaguely-sauntering

Contrary to popular belief there is in fact no highway to hell. In America there is a highway called Route 66 which tragically takes you to many other places in America, so this is about the closest approximation to a highway to hell which can be found.

The fastest way to make the journey was to travel the way Aziraphale currently was. Falling from heaven allows one to build up a considerable velocity so the fall does not take much time at all. The landing however, wasn’t quite worth the time you saved compared to travelling by other means.

Passing through Earth, Aziraphale felt a shattering pain ring throughout him, specifically his head, as though his skull had just broken into a million pieces. In a way this was exactly what had happened, and in another this wasn’t what had happened at all.

Then there was darkness.

 

 

Crowley, once again, found himself spontaneously alone. This was the third time this had happened to him and frankly he was getting a little sick of the gimmick. He sat down on the footpath in the alleyway and waited, because maybe this would be like the first time when Aziraphale had returned within minutes. He waited for about an hour until the skies turned grey and he found himself craving some place warm and some entertainment less inclined to disappearing before his very eyes, so he stood and made his way back to the former bookstore space which he as of late referred to as ‘his place’.

 

 

“Oi, there’s no sleeping allowed down here,” said a gruff voice.

Aziraphale barely felt the boot kick his arm as there was already so much pain dominating the senses of his entire body. “Down where?” he asked, opening his eyes and sitting up. His body felt different all over. He felt tacky, rough, heavy, the opposite of how soft and smooth and light he usually was. The only part of him which wasn’t heavy was his head, which actually felt much lighter than it ever had. He reached up touching it and felt a sharp prick on his fingers. “Ouch! Fuck!”

That’s when he saw the glowing shards surrounding him. Scattered on the floor were the shattered debris of what was once his halo.

“Where do you think you are?” asked the voice, who Aziraphale could now see belonged to a lesser demon. “Come on let’s take you to the boss.”

“Hang on a tick,” Aziraphale said, scooping up the remains of his halo and stuffing them into the pockets of his coat.

“Bosses don’t like to be kept waiting, hurry it up,” the demon said.

As Aziraphale walked he realised that the smell and the taste of the air, like smoke and fire and his favourite flavour of spices, seemed more familiar to him than it should for a place he had only been once before. Regardless, he was more presently concerned with the idea of ‘meeting the boss’, afraid for a moment that he was going to be taken directly to Satan himself, however when he was tossed into a rather small office-like room he figured that the head of hell was probably just as elusive as the head of _his_ department was.

“Hello, um, I’m Azirap-”

“Do not use divine names down here!” the demon sitting before him barked.

“My sincerest apologies,” Aziraphale began.

“Do not use apologies down here either!” the demon said.

“Sorry, but I’m afraid there’s been some sort of terrible mix up.”

“There has been no mistake, you’re one of us now,” the demon said.

“Um, no I do not think so. You see I am an angel of heaven.”

“As were we all,” the demon said, its temper growing shorter, if that were possible.

“Yes, but well you see I didn’t, uh intentionally come down here. So, if you could just return me to – um, I don’t know if you have an elevator or something – I need to talk to heaven and get this mess sorted out.”

The demon’s head rested tiredly on one of its hands. “You know what, how about you take a wander around. Get yourself familiar with the place. Really get settled in… because this is your fucking home now you goddamned blithering idiot!”

 

 

There was nothing good on TV. Crowley figured it was probably time he figured out what a Netflix subscription was exactly, as almost all good recommended shows seemed to be a part of that scheme. He was the technologically savvy one amongst the demons but that did not mean he wasn’t still somewhat behind the humans’ understanding of it. Why was Netflix a subscription? Did they deliver the shows to your door? He’d been reluctant to have humans visit his flat, they might see something they shouldn’t, but demons didn’t come to this place so maybe he could indulge in deliveries. The flat was for work and ‘his place’ was for downtime. In a way, it was a place used to allow Crowley to pretend to be a normal human sometimes.

“Oh, what an awful train of thought,” Crowley said to himself, “I’ve gone soft.” A minute later the door to Crowley’s place flew open like a crash of thunder.

“Hello,” Crowley said. “Not going to disappear on me again are you angel?”

“Not anymore,” Aziraphale said storming inside.

“I don’t know it seems pretty unpredictable.”

“That’s not that I was referring to,” he said, standing beside the couch, looking down at Crowley. He was scowling. _Scowling_.

“What’s happened?”

And then Aziraphale’s face quivered and he burst into tears. Crowley’s arms flailed about him, unsure of what to do with them. Eventually he ran over to Aziraphale and took a hold of his shoulders guiding him to sit down beside him on the couch.

“There there,” he said patting Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Uh it’s okay… um… hell I don’t know how to do this the nice way. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.”

“You can’t fix this,” Aziraphale said through a sob. He wrapped his arms around Crowley, hugging him close. Was this worth damnation? Holding Crowley? Crowley held him back, tightly, and his hand ran up and down Aziraphale’s spine. Touch, a worldly pleasure. No, it wasn’t about touch. It wasn’t about the worldly pleasures Crowley gave him. It was about the company. It was about the friendship they shared, the companionship, the love. That was worth it… at least he hoped so.

Close up, Crowley tried to place the familiar scent clinging to Aziraphale’s clothes.

Finally, Aziraphale stood up and looked down at Crowley. “Show me your halo… your horns I mean.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

Crowley waved his hand past his face revealing his horns. From a distance they could almost be mistaken for a complete halo. Between them there was a small chunk in the middle missing which split what was once a complete circle into two horns.

“It’s true,” Aziraphale said. “You didn’t fall, you gently sauntered and barely took a nick off the top. Painless I assume.”

“It hurt,” Crowley said. “Quite considerably I might add. I lost my home.”

“Oh, but you didn’t come crashing down. Not like I did.” Aziraphale waved his hand over his face, barely revealing anything. There were two jagged stumps coming from his head. He reached into his pockets and tossed the many shards of halo onto the floor. Crowley finally understood that the scent of hell wasn’t just lingering on Aziraphale, it was coming from him. He was now a part of it.

“You’re… one of us now?”

“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale said. “I was in hell for about 3 hours before they kicked me out.”

“They _kicked_ _you out?!_ ” Crowley said with a flabbergasted choke.

“I was too nice, they found it annoying.”

“I can’t believe this,” Crowley said. “Never in all my years have I heard of such a thing.”

Aziraphale sank down to the floor sitting and burying his face in his hands. “Only I could be unwanted in both heaven and hell.”

Crowley struggled for words. He really wasn’t a creature of comfort. “Well, look on the bright side, now that you’re a demon you can perform as many frivolous miracles as you wish!” To demonstrate he held out his hand summoning a bottle of wine from across the room. He popped the top and passed it over.

Aziraphale drank for a time that would be disturbingly long if he were a mortal. “I can’t,” he said, almost breathless by the time he had stopped drinking. He passed the bottle back to Crowley which was now one quarter empty. Crowley took a much shorter sip.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“Can’t do miracles,” Aziraphale said. “Hell said they wouldn’t let me. Said I’d just use them to do good things. They can’t have that now, can they?”

“Damn,” Crowley said. “Suppose not.”

Aziraphale let out a long drawn out wail which turned into a sob. “I’ve made _such_ a mess of things. I just wanted to be important again. How did this all go so wrong?”

Crowley thought on it, reflecting on Aziraphale’s past few years. “If you ask me,” Crowley began taking a final sip before passing the bottle back. “They were setting you up to fail. Only performing one miracle per week, are you kidding me? It’s like… like taking a man’s pacemaker and telling him he can have one heartbeat to last him the day before he can use it again tomorrow. After 6000 years you become dependent on miracles. And not seeing me? _Come on_ , they _had_ to know you’d fail that one. Honestly, I’m surprised you even made it four years before coming back to me.”

“You seemed to be doing okay without me,” Aziraphale said.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! I was suffering. You, you,” his arm waved about as he struggled for words. “You dangled heaven in front of me. A perfect life, just being with you, indulging, enjoying Earth. And then you _leave_.”

“Why didn’t you come after me?”

“Because I love you!” Crowley said. “The whole bloody time before you left, I could see it written all over you. Your misery. How… cooped up you were. You thought it was me who was losing my marbles? It was you. You were desperate to show both heaven and hell what you’ve got. I could see how important it was to you. I could never, never have sought you out and ruined your chance. Never… I missed you every day.”

“I don’t want to choose between you and heaven,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think I can.”

“Don’t then, you don’t have to,” Crowley said, his voice suddenly turning strong, stern. “You won’t have to.”

“You’re right, I already made my choice,” Aziraphale said. “I chose you.”

“No, no, no that’s not what I mean at all,” he took the bottle back from Aziraphale, taking one large gulp before slamming it down on the coffee table with a loud bang. “We’re gonna get you your old job back.”

 

 

That night, Aziraphale lost his first feather. Crowley found it lying on his bedroom floor while Aziraphale was sleeping. It turned out the way to get the angel to finally indulge in the sensation of sleep was to get him supremely drunk with no ability to sober up instantly. Also making the journey all the way from heaven to hell earlier in the day probably set you up with some fatigue.

Crowley picked up the feather and quietly walked down the stairs into the main room of his place. He needed something which could hold things. A container of sorts. He carried the feather around, looking for anything that would do the job. As he moved plants recoiled in his presence. Of course, the plants. He had tried, honestly tried, to grow them with kindness but it just didn’t work. His natural mean streak coupled with a major upheaval to his lifestyle had tempted Crowley back to old ways and old vices. Hence, terrified plants filled his place.

He picked up a small potted plant, looked at it closely for wilts. Damn it, it was doing perfectly. He picked up another which was also flawless. He compared the height of the two and then uprooted the shorter one. In his fingers he was still holding onto a pure white feather.

He let out an exhausted sigh. “Hopefully hell will turn a blind eye to this,” he said, and he found a planter with enough spare room to house the plant he’d just uprooted alongside what it was currently housing. Then he grabbed the empty pot, cleaned it and filled it with the shards of halo which were still on the floor and the singular white feather. He looked into the bucket, hoping it wouldn’t someday become filled to the top with feathers. He knew he would need dozens of buckets over if he had kept all the decayed pieces of his own wings.

He left the bucket on the coffee table and went back to the bedroom slipping into the sheets and holding himself close to Aziraphale for the first time in four years.

To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale was awake and he spoke, although it was a tired, broken whisper “How are we going to fix me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Crowley said.

“We could send heaven a strongly worded letter.”

“I don’t think that will cut it. Just give me some time, I’ll come up with something. I’m clever and wily remember?”

“That’s sweet. Tremendously so. But I don’t think we’re going to get me out of this one.”

“We will.”

“I just don’t see how.”

“The same way we’ve solved everything. Together.”

He felt Aziraphale’s hand take his, squeeze it tightly.

“It wasn’t painless for me,” Crowley began. “The fall. It hurt like nothing else ever could. The loneliness of it. Realising I could never go back. Never feel that cool breeze, smell that sweet air. Rejection from my home.”

“Would you go back, if you could?” Aziraphale said.

“No,” Crowley said. “I couldn’t be myself there, I wasn’t loved there. Hell isn’t my home either, but at least I can be who I am. I’m free. Well, more so than I was up there.”

“Hell never felt like home to you?”

“I don’t know, maybe it did once, but not anymore. This is my home. More than heaven or hell could ever be.”

“The bookstore?” Aziraphale was surprised.

“No,” Crowley said, holding Aziraphale tighter. “You.”

 

 

There was a new art exhibit in London. Crowley and Aziraphale took their time to look at the pieces but they found that when they moved onto the next, they couldn’t quite remember what they had just been looking at.

“I think it’s fruit?” Aziraphale said.

“It’s too blue, there aren’t any blue fruits,” Crowley said.

“Blueberries?”

“They’re purple… I think?”

“There’s blue radishes aren’t there? Or is that corn? Or… potatoes?” Aziraphale said.

“I think it’s a painting of time.”

“Time?”

“Yes time. Like, it’s got this flow to it, like sand,” Crowley said with a swoop of his arm.

“Then it’s a painting of sand not time.”

“No like the sands of time.”

“Maybe it’s water?”

They stared for several moments longer.

“Maybe,” began Crowley. “A man just put blue paint on a canvas and decided it was up to us to figure out how it counts as art.”

“I miss the classics,” Aziraphale said wistfully. “Renaissance art was just so beautiful. It didn’t need all of this discussion, you just looked at it and knew it was a painting of a handsome man.”

“Too religious for me,” Crowley said. “Van Gogh on the other hand. Beautiful surrealism while still looking like a discernible thing and not just a bunch of lines thrown together.”

“I don’t suppose we could ask Adam Young?” Aziraphale said.

“About abstract art?” Crowley asked, suddenly lost.

“To help us. Maybe he could… I don’t know, do some magic and fix all this.”

“Don’t think we should rely on the help of a kid to fix all our problems.”

“He wouldn’t exactly be a kid anymore,” Aziraphale said.

“What a horrifying thought. But no, we got into this mess together, I think we should sort it out ourselves. This is about you settling a score with heaven, I don’t think a human’s hellish magic is going to do anything.”

“At the very least surely he could transport all my books back to London,” Aziraphale said.

They moved onto another piece. It was a badly drawn dog cartoon over some large polka dots. “A toddler could’ve made this,” Crowley grumbled.

“This is by far, the worst art exhibit I have ever been in.”

“I don’t know, _Picasso_ ,” Crowley said through gritted teeth.

“I liked Picasso.”

“Too bad. He’s one of ours.”

“You’re forgetting, ‘ours’ is inclusive of me now,” Aziraphale said.

“I’m not forgetting anything. You’re still an angel.”

“To you maybe. To everyone else I’m a demon.”

“Not forever.”

“Oh come on, be real for a second Crowley,” Aziraphale said, agitation seeping into his words. “How many demons fell and tried to get back to heaven? How many? Almost all of them, I’m sure.”

“That’s not true. Most of them wanted to leave.”

“Not you. Go ahead, tell me you didn’t try to get back into heaven,” Aziraphale said. A young couple stood impatiently nearby, desperate to get a look at the dog painting. Crowley tugged on Aziraphale’s arm pulling him out of the way. They were now face to face, almost inches from each other. “Don’t lie.”

“Yes, I tried,” Crowley said. “But this is different.”

“How is it different? I royally screwed up. I betrayed heaven, once, twice, three times, more even. I’d say who’s counting but the answer is them,” he pointed to the ceiling. “They’re counting, and they’re _right_. I am not special. I am not worthy of special treatment. I’m worse than most other angels at my job. I can’t call them. I can’t contact them. There’s nothing we can do.”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by both his shoulders. “You, are the best goddamned angel I have ever had the displeasure to meet. _No one_ , not a single entity in heaven, cares about humanity, other than you, and Him. No one else cares. They say they love all of God’s creations but it’s a lie. To demons and angels, humans are just pawns for the cosmic war. But you, you actually care about them. You gave your sword to them. Since the beginning, you’re the only angel who has actually loved them.”

“It’s not what an angel is supposed to do,” Aziraphale said. “I’m not like them. I never was a proper angel.”

“Not at all,” Crowley said. “Good. I like you better that way.” Behind his glasses, Aziraphale watched the slits of Crowley’s eyes dart to the ceiling as he thought. “You know… you may not be able to perform miracles, but you can still do good things.”

“Yes… I can…”

“Well that’s what you wanted wasn’t it? Before, you were more restricted than even a human was because heaven would tell you off for doing good things they hadn’t ask you to do. Well now you’re hell’s problem, so heaven’s not in charge of you.”

“Great, so instead of a stern slap on the wrist I can have a legion of demons come after me for disobeying the rules of hell.”

“A legion of… Aziraphale how much do angels know about the business structures of hell?”

“Umm well we – they – know that you – we –” Aziraphale rubbed his forehead and started again. “Heaven knows that hell has hierarchies like heaven does. They know the names of a few key demons. Sometimes it takes a while to find out about a new and upcoming demon.”

“Do you know Gladrys?”

“Uh no I don’t think so. But I have been out of the loop of heaven’s knowledge for quite some time.”

“Benly?”

“No, I’ve never heard-”

“Hora?”

“You’re just making names up now.”

“They’ve been huge for centuries,” Crowley said. “Administration only roles. You lot only find out about the actors don’t you? The ones responsible for tying shoelaces together, not the ones sending out orders.”

“I don’t know. Again, heaven may know more than I do. But in general they just keep track of abnormalities. Who’s performing what demonic miracles and where.”

“They don’t have a clue,” Crowley said, and determination crossed his face. “Aziraphale, I think I have a plan.”

 

 

Crowley’s plan formulated itself as they walked back to Crowley’s place. By the time they were standing inside, Crowley had it all figured out, well the basics anyway.

“You want to try to _con_ heaven!” Aziraphale said.

“No, it’s not a con,” Crowley said.

“You want to lie to heaven,” Aziraphale said. “That’s a con.”

“No. No lying. Well maybe a little bit of lying. But it’s only lying by omission. Actually, it’s just the regular kind of lying, _but still,_ it’ll work.”

“It won’t work,” Aziraphale said. “They’ll see it coming.”

“No, they won’t,” Crowley said. “For the first time ever they won’t see any of our plans coming because you’re not broadcasting them straight through angel telephone. They have no idea what you’re doing, they’re not looking, they don’t care. So, we make them look, but only in the right direction. You said you’re unimpressive in their books, we make you impressive. We make you outperform all the other angels. Soon they’ll be begging to take you back.”

“How could I possibly do that. I don’t even have miracles.”

“You have me. And baby, I have so many miracles.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t think defying heaven is a good idea. I keep thinking I can’t possibly get into more trouble and then look where I wind up.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “You didn’t fall. You were pushed. The one sin they said you haven’t committed was wrath, well darling, it’s time to show them some fucking wrath. Wrath done _your_ way. We’re going to hit them with goodness the likes of which they’ve never seen before.”

 

 

“Oh do I have to,” Crowley said with a whinge.

“This was _your plan_ ,” Aziraphale said. “It’s easy, just, turn the staircase into a slope. Come on you can do it.”

Crowley’s face scrunched up, and he hesitated. “It’s going to feel weird.”

“You’ve done kind miracles before,” Aziraphale said.

“But that’s different. I was doing them for you. I wanted to do them.”

“You’re doing this for me,” Aziraphale said. “Just in a less direct way.”

“Fine, fine,” Crowley said. He held out his arm and waved it. One of the two staircases leading up to the public library they were stood in front of turned into a ramp.

“Good job,” Aziraphale said, his face beaming with pride. “But it’s too steep. You need to make it shallower.”

“You want me to do it again?!” Crowley said. “Ugh I can taste… something tastes _wrong_ on my tongue.”

“Do this for me and I’ll kiss you and you can replace the taste with my angelic sweetness.”

“You don’t taste sweet anymore,” Crowley said. He pulled the biggest frown of his existence and reperformed the miracle, this time making the ramp far more practical. “Eugh I felt that one all over,” Crowley said, and he started doing a strange hopping dance trying to shake out the crawling tingles throughout his body.

Aziraphale ignored him regarding the ramp instead. “This isn’t going to work.”

“I’m not making it shallower _again_ ,” Crowley said.

“No, the ramp is fine, it’s the plan I’m talking about.”

“Nah, it’s a good plan. It’s my plan. That means it has to be good.”

“Look at you, you’re physically repulsed by doing good things,” Aziraphale said. “I have a bad feeling that if you keep doing good miracles hell’s going to notice.”

“I can talk my way out of it,” Crowley said.

“I just don’t understand, you’ve done plenty of miracles for me before, nice ones,” he said.

“Yes, well I was doing them for _you_ not for some random stranger,” Crowley explained. “Which means in a way I was doing it for myself. I derive great amounts of pleasure from seeing you happy. Very selfish of me really, when you think about it.”

“I think I have an idea,” Aziraphale said. “A slight revision to the plan. What if, you do bad miracles, which will ultimately have a positive outcome.”

“Not following you,” Crowley said.

“It’s okay, just do what I say, remove this ramp.”

Crowley’s shoulders sank.

“Look, someone with a wheelchair is bound to need it pretty soon. Removing it would be a pretty mean and devilish thing to do,” Aziraphale said. “So, do it.” Crowley pouted at him. “Come on.”

The ramp was gone, and Crowley did not feel a thing.

“So now what we need to do is find somebody important,” Aziraphale said. “Follow me.”

The pair departed from outside the library heading towards the local suburban area.

 

 

They had found someone important, a politician named Ryan Johnson who had an influential role in city planning. He was currently taking his dog for a walk, unaware that he was being shadowed by two demons.

“So now you need to cause an accident,” Aziraphale said. “Something which will break both of his legs.”

Crowley shot a look to Aziraphale which the former angel could not discern. It seemed like surprise, concern and judgement mixed together. Crowley knew Aziraphale was not wholly virtuous, never had been. He’d been present at times when Aziraphale threatened local mafia away from his store, broken free from imprisonment by swapping places with his captor, he’d even seen Aziraphale threaten to murder the anti-Christ, a literal child. Historically it had delighted him, intrigued him, aroused a burning need to befriend this strangely deviant angel. Now it scared him. He was afraid of Aziraphale losing himself now that he was at a great risk of slipping into demonic ways.

“Trust me,” Aziraphale said. He took a hold of Crowley’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s a multi-phase plan.”

Crowley walked ahead, looking around the busy street, calculating movements of people, cars, Ryan Johnson, his dog. He stood, waited, took a shallow breath, and then performed a demonic miracle.

Ryan’s dog ran a circle around its owner’s legs, tripping Ryan over. A moment later a car ran over his tangled legs, breaking his shins instantly.

Crowley walked back to Aziraphale. “That was angelic. So, what happens next?”

“Next, Ryan finds himself in a wheelchair. He finds moving about his city to be a fairly difficult task. Then, I pose as a member of a local disability charity organisation, speak a few sweet persuasive words and within a year he’ll be passing funding to make this city a more accessible place,” Aziraphale explained.

“Oh, you are a diabolical one, angel,” Crowley said. “Good, but diabolical.

“Being an angel’s not about fixing things ourselves, it’s about persuading humans to do the good deeds. So, this whole thing is set up so that I have an opportunity to have an important role in influencing a man to do good.

“And meanwhile all downstairs see is that I’ve caused a car accident,” Crowley said.

“Exactly. The only problem left is that upstairs might notice. If the other half of the plan is going to work, we need someone else performing those demonic little miracles.”

“I think I can work something out,” Crowley said.

 

 

Crowley stood in front of a burning house. One of his lackeys lowered his arms, his miraculous fire already spreading throughout the timber.

“Good work,” Crowley said. “Allow me to explain. This man’s life will be in ruins in no time. Trying to sort out this mess will cause many employees of building companies, insurance firms and fire department to work overtime. This will wear away at their patience, make them temperamental which pushes them to unsavoury vices. It’s all about emanating effects.”

“I see,” the demon said. He wasn’t any particularly important demon, but he knew that Crowley was. He knew that when someone wiser and more successful offered to give you on the field training, you should take the opportunity. He was very proud to be an important part of Crowley’s sinister plan.

“That will be all. Best you leave before humans start asking us questions.”

The demon departed and Crowley crossed the street to where Aziraphale had been watching in the shadows. Even from here they could feel the warmth of the fire.

“It’s pretty,” Aziraphale said watching the blaze climb a pillar of wall. “Are you sure he’s not going to be hurt.”

“There might be a scratch or two but nobody’s dying in that fire,” Crowley said. A moment later a fire truck passed them by, its alarm blaring as it pulled up outside the house.

“Excellent,” Aziraphale said. This plan was also a multi-phase plan. It begins by finding a man who has considerable wealth, house insurance, and flammable furniture. After his house burns down by no fault of his own there would be an unfortunate mix up with his insurance, and his claim would take several months to process, forcing him to live frugally. Exposure to an impoverished lifestyle will change his attitude in time. In two years, once his insurance had been paid back and his wealth restored, he would find a homeless man on the street, and sympathise with his plight. He would bring a charitable attitude to his business meetings and house parties. He would persuade his likewise wealthy friends and co-workers to become generous donors. In Crowley’s own words, it was about emanating effects.

 

The rest of Aziraphale and Crowley’s plans followed a similar pattern. Aziraphale would think of an outcome and a way to achieve it. Crowley would find a way to twist the miracles needed to be performed into diabolical actions, and then make one of his subordinates to do the magic while he watched in the shadows. Then, when appropriate, Aziraphale would step forward and play a major role in maximising the goodness of the outcome.

 

They worked for years, five specifically.

 

Crowley’s original multi-phase plan had finally seen its fruition. In hell he popped a bottle of wine, dining with his higher ups and team of subordinates as they reviewed numbers. Many teenage pregnancies had led to many unwanted babies which had led to many impoverished children who were already developing a vengeance towards the world. They were children who were growing up with demons whispering in their ears that life did them wrong, that they should retaliate, they should not play by societies rules, nor by its virtues. With a bit more time and a bit more intervention they would become sinners.

Crowley drank with the demons for hours. When the party wore on, he pulled his team close. Giving praise was not something a demon could really do, but words of congratulations were fine. He told them all the take pride in what they had accomplished. Although Crowley had been the mastermind, they had done the heavy lifting, after all. He told them to tell all the demons, to take to the streets and party and shout their own names so loudly that even heaven would know that they, and not Crowley, were responsible for all the misdoings which had taken place.

And that was the second last part in Aziraphale and Crowley’s ultimate, multi-phase plan.

 

 

“We’re forgetting one final flaw in the plan,” Aziraphale said. They were in bed together after having taken part in a celebratory, rather worldly pleasure. “I cannot lie. Not to heaven at least.”

“Sure, you can,” Crowley said. “You’re a demon you’re naturally made to lie, and specifically made to deceive heaven. Do the math for a second. You only have to lie whilst you’re still a demon. Then when they make you an angel again, the job’s completed and you can go back to how things were, and no more lying necessary. Probably. And hey, play your words right and you might not have to lie at all. Just try to uhh, select words carefully.”

“Yes well, I think I’d prefer doing that. Even so, I still don’t think this will be successful,” Aziraphale said. “They might not even grant me an audience.”

“They might not,” Crowley said. “But then we just carry on as we are now. You doing good, me doing bad whilst participating in my side hobby of helping you do good. And maybe that will be enough for us.”

Behind all the worry, a smile crossed Aziraphale’s face. “You know I just realised, all this _doing deeds_ for each other, me encouraging you to do bad, you helping me do good, it’s rather like our old arrangement, is it not? The good old days.”

“The good old days?” Crowley said a little surprised. “Never thought they ended. I’ve just been living in the good days. Still the same angel, the same demon, thwarting opposing sides but seeing things eye to eye.”

Aziraphale ran a finger through Crowley’s hair. It held its usual, tight coifed shape. Frivolous demonic miracles. “Yes. Right you are. I wish it hadn’t taken me this long to realise, but things really are quite perfect already.”

“Eh I wouldn’t say perfect,” Crowley said. “You’re not an angel, and we’re still prone to being found out.”

“When are we not prone to being found out? I’ve gotten used to living life on the rocks. And as for the other thing, being a demon isn’t so bad, it just depends on what you do as one.”

 

 

Summoning a council involved Aziraphale tracking down one of the few working angels he knew of in London. She was sitting on a park bench reading the celestial times when there was a polite tap on her shoulder.

“Hello, my name is Aziraphale.”

The angel did not recognise him at all but she could sense what he was. “You’re a demon.”

“No- Yes. By technicality I am,” Aziraphale said. “Physically I’m a demon, but I’m not working as one. Hell didn’t want me. Anyhoo, I need to speak to heaven and I can’t call them without a divine connection.”

“You… want me to call heaven for you?” she asked.

“Please.” In all of her thousands of years of working, she had never met a demon who used manners. At least not sarcastically or as a front to a practical joke being played on humans.

“I really can’t.”

“Do you know who I am, or who I was rather?” Aziraphale said, going down to his knees, kneeling in front of her. His hands were clasped together. “I’m the angel of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden. I’m an old, old soldier of heaven. I’ve been around for longer than most, felt that divine all-encompassing love which angels do for far longer than most. Please, sister angel, love me now. The damned creature who comes before you, begging for a favour. The damned creature who was cast from heaven, and in the face of hell refused to do evil. Please, love me.”

She was an angel, and she could sense love. Demons didn’t love, not in her experience. They enjoyed things. They enjoyed causing suffering and terror. They emanated pain, emotional longing, and cruelty. Rumour had it that there was one serpent tongued demon who _was_ capable of love, but that was no more than gossip shared amongst co-workers and she didn’t believe it. However, this demon before her now, this Aziraphale, he absolutely radiated love. A love of the world, a love of her and what she was, a love of himself and the deeds he was capable of.

“If they’re not interested, I won’t push them,” she said. “Follow me.”

She led him to a small apartment which looked as unlived in as Crowley’s flat did. In the centre of the room was a prayer circle and she lit the candles required for the ritual.

“Keep your distance demon,” she said. “If you so much as flinch in a way I don’t like I will smite you where you stand.”

Aziraphale held his hands up innocently. “Very well. I’m pretty sure that’s quite dangerous to me anyway,” he said pointing at the circle.

The rune glowed, and the angel kneeled. “Hello, I have a demon here, says he wants to speak to…”

“Raphael,” Aziraphale said.

“…to Raphael. He goes by the name Aziraphale.”

Almost a second later Raphael stood before them, along with two other angels. Aziraphale recognised them from his hearing when he had been reprimanded for his weather changing miracle.

“Demon Aziraphale,” Raphael’s voice boomed. “You sure are persistent.”

“Look, I… er… um… uh…” Speak Aziraphale, _speak._ What use has living with that serpent tongued demon served if he hasn’t taught you how to run your mouth out of a problem? “I’ve been doing _good work_ and I’ve come to get some recognition.”

“We don’t care what you’ve been up to, Aziraphale,” Raphael said.

“Are… are any of you accountants?” Aziraphale said, pointing to the angels behind Raphael.

One of the angels raised his hand.

“Good. Well, have at this then. Have you noticed a substantial increase in goodness in the local area? More generous donations from the rich, better accessibility, efficiency of motorways, hospital funding, to name a few.”

The accountant summoned a tablet from thin air. He began reviewing some reports. After a minute he simply said, “Yes, it appears so.”

“A far more substantial rise in goodness than the average goings about humans could accomplish. Even on purpose,” Aziraphale clarified.

“This is true,” the accountant said. “Are you claiming to be responsible for all this?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “I am responsible. Look closely, I have intervened at integral moments in the personal experiences of persons of interest, prompting them into charitable acts.”

The accountant reviewed a few more reports. “Your intervention is noticeable, yes.”

“What is your point, Aziraphale?” Raphael asked.

“My point is, I’m going good. I’m collecting souls for heaven, even though hell’s retribution threatens me. I _am_ devoted to heaven. I am devoted to its cause. Even if my methods aren’t always to your liking, I do what is right. And I’ve been performing brilliantly.”

“This really is an impressive performance,” the accountant agreed. “However, none of it is anything which couldn’t be performed by a more dependable angel, Aziraphale. The one’s who have not made your mistakes. Ones who have remained loyal.”

“Ah but you see there _is_ something I have accomplished which no other angel ever could.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve singlehandedly stopped the most cunning, clever, effective, efficient demon in the entire world. It’s been years since Crowley’s done _anything_ sinister,” Aziraphale said. “Review demonic activity in the area, his name won’t appear at all.”

The accountant let out a sigh and began more reviewing. “There appears to be new demons operating here,” he said. “Five to be exact. But no sign of Crowley.”

“See,” Aziraphale interjected. He liked to think he was getting good at this persuasive omission of truth thing. “Crowley was so good that hell needed _five_ demons to do his work.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Raphael said. “What _has_ Crowley been up to?”

“He’s basically retired from all that running around being a demon business,” Aziraphale said. It was _technically_ true. He was more in the sitting down and being a demon business these days. “I believe it can all be explained by something along the lines of him being satisfied with simply existing… because he’s with me now.”

“Crowley out of business _is_ a serious detriment to the forces of evil in London,” said the accountant to Raphael. Then he looked to Aziraphale. “Was stopping Crowley an intentional effort on your part?”

“It was more a matter of… taking advantage of a situation,” Aziraphale explained.

“Aziraphale, this is the most impressive work we have ever seen you pull off,” the accountant said.

Aziraphale smiled proudly.

“And it means nothing,” Raphael said. “Why have you summoned us here. What do you want?”

“Well, you see I’m afraid the demonic nature of my powers makes them reluctant to doing good work. I know you can’t just make me an angel again, and in fact, that might be for the best. I was never very good at being an angel, after all. I think I’m too _nice_ for it.”

“Then what was the point of all this?”

“I had a score to settle,” Aziraphale said. “You, all of you angels, you can boss me around and put restrictions on me and do whatever you want. When it came down to it, I loved planet Earth, and all the humans on it, and I loved them so much I could not let the world die. And when it came down to it, I fell in love with a demon and I loved him so much that I could not let him go. I helped create this world, this strange wonderful place called Earth, and I _will_ help its people flourish. And yes, I derive my own pleasure from the world, and that’s not what I’m supposed to do, but it’s what I’m going to do. I think I deserve it. So, you can cast me out of heaven, but you are never, ever taking my soul away. There’s nothing heaven or hell could ever do to me could stop me from doing good recklessly.”

By the time Aziraphale finished, he felt afraid, but so very, very alive. For the first time in his existence, he had spoken his personal truth.

“Aziraphale, restoring you to divinity is something beyond our power,” Raphael began. “But, it is not beyond the power of the All Mighty. In time, if you keep up what you are doing, if you keep impressing us, we may consider… taking your situation to a higher level.”

Aziraphale felt a relief which he hadn’t known in many, many years. “Oh, thank you,” he said. “Thank you so, so much.”

“No promises,” Raphael said. The accountant and other angel who had been summoned turned and went into the circle, disappearing. “You have impressed us Aziraphale. And you are well on your way to proving your devotion to heaven.”

“Thank you, again,” Aziraphale said. Raphael turned to leave. “Oh, before you go, if I may be so bold…”

Raphael looked back at him. “When are you not,” she said, and there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Can I ask a favour, maybe a small reward for what I’ve done so far?”

“Asking for rewards takes away from the virtue of your actions,” Raphael said.

“Well, if it helps, it’s not exactly for me…”

 

 

Crowley stood in the bathroom of the house above the bookstore. It was a small room. Sharp, dark, cold, all the things Aziraphale hated in a space. Still, many hours had been wasted away in this bathroom, staring into the mirror, remembering what had been taken from him. Or rather, what he had took for granted many years ago when he deified the will of heaven.

Really, he shouldn’t dwell. Wings meant nothing, they had no practical purpose. All they did was serve as reminders for how far he had fallen. How small he had become in the grand scale of the cosmos.

He could say these about his own wings, but he wouldn’t even dare to think them of Aziraphale’s. Not now and not in thousands of years if they ever became withered beyond recognition. Contrary to popular belief, Crowley did love. Angels couldn’t sense it however, because he didn’t radiate it. His love travelled in one determined direction, directly to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was and would always be an angel. Great white wings, full and beautiful, powerful, glorious. His own wings did not compare. Aziraphale was complete, perfect. He was broken, flawed.

And then Crowley took out his wings, unfolding layers upon layers, dark feathers amassing, heavier than he had ever remembered. His bathroom was engulfed in soft blackness. Plumage as thick as the day he had first fallen, maybe more so. “I don’t understand…” Crowley began.

“I had hoped,” Aziraphale began, pulling the door to the bathroom open, barely able to see Crowley through the mass of wings, “that you could finally see yourself as I do."

Crowley had no words. He ran his fingers through the feathers, unable to believe they were real.

“Not a fallen angel, not a demon. Not Romeo, not Juliet,” Aziraphale continued. “You’re just Crowley. Just Crowley who’s determined to get my halo back. Just Crowley who helped me stop Armageddon so we could keep things just as they always were, perfect. Heaven and hell rejected me, but there was always you, my own personal Garden of Eden. I’m not an angel yet, and I’m certainly not a demon, I’m just Aziraphale. And you’re just Crowley. And that has been, and will always be, in the grand scheme of things, more than enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in like 4 days and that is a trick i will NOT be repeating again folks
> 
> i'd like to say that this fic was written to 'Undisclosed Desires' by Muse, i'd like to say it, but i couldn't honestly, it was actually more written to 'Land of Gods & Monsters' by Lana Del Rey
> 
> thanks for reading, u can find me screaming about gomens on my tumblr if ya want: apocahipster
> 
> ps. my internet died the moment i hit upload on this which is a rather... bad omen...


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